Failure to Troubleshoot
by xxseemoreclearly
Summary: Natasha and Clint have been partners for years, and rank as the top agents at S.H.I.E.L.D., but things get shaky when Clint and Natasha are split up and thrown into the Avengers initiative. And during it all Natasha discovers something that could be threatening to her career and relationship with Clint. Including all the movie Avengers and tightly knitting into the plot.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, all right's to the original owner.

* * *

"Privet." The greeting glided off Natasha's tongue gracefully, aiming to grab the attention of the suited-up man before her.

"You are Russian?" He man replied, a subtle accent slipping through his words. Natasha smiled, sipping the celebratory champagne from her glass.

_"It's rude to flirt with another man in front of me. I'm getting jealous." _She heard Clint tease through her ear piece, _Damn it Barton, then you're about to get real fucking uncomfortable, _she thought back_. _Natasha didn't show any clue physically that she had a class-A bastard blabbing into her ear, she simply continued on her main focus at the moment. Be as damn sultry and irresistible as possible.

Natasha nodded and studied the man, making it obvious that she was thoroughly checking him out. Alexei Petrovin, the son of a powerful Russian politician, an extremely handsome well-spoken man who had a thing for pretty faces. He was well dressed, with dark hair smoothed out of his sculpted face. Natasha smiled glowingly at him only briefly then resumed her seductive expression, "How do you know Mr. Wells?" She asked, pleased with the flirtatious smile that was drawn across his face.

Alan Wells and Alexei Petrovin were targets. _"Nat, I'm on the move to Wells,"_ Clint informed her, deciding to properly use their ear wigs for once. Petrovin was the _real _bad guy, Wells was just stupid enough to accept one of his offers. Offers he probably made to dozens of other men, waiting for one to be naive and say yes. Alan Wells, the middle aged CEO of a large food processing company; tonight was the company's 175th year anniversary party held in the company HQ. It was a well known, trusted, family owned business, passed on to sons through the generations. And Wells had agreed to release a deadly, undetectable chemical into his product on Petrovin's behalf in exchange for 30 million dollars and a plane ticket the hell out of there.

Petrovin's father had a growing grudge against the US, and after being raised by the man, so did Alexei. So naturally, the golden-boy decided to follow in daddy's footsteps with the money he earned from stealing and selling his finds on the Black Market. Terrorism by food, Natasha had to admit, the bitch was crafty.

The deal was going down that night. That's why Clint and Natasha had their asses hauled down to Dallas, Texas on a jet, to put it bluntly they were to hack Petrovin's head off and bring Wells into custody. _Discreetly_.

So seducing it was, Natasha batted her thick, mascara coated lashes at Petrovin, who was clearly taken with her, "I am a family friend of theirs." He said cooly, drifting his eyes up and down Natasha's body. She was wearing a burgundy colored dress that barely covered her breasts or legs. Natasha internally rolled her eyes and scoffed, but kept her feminine aura seeping from her skin.

_"Don't tell me… he's whipped out the eye-sex, hasn't he?"_ Clint chuckled, after a couple of years working with Natasha, he learned that he could say stupid shit into her ear wig whenever he wanted, and she wouldn't move even a single facial muscle in response.

"What a coincidence, so am I." She smiled up at him, continuing to breeze passed Clint's commentary. "I'm Naomi, pleased to meet you." She beamed, lying effortlessly.

"What a beautiful name." He reached down to her hand and brushed his lips on her soft skin. Natasha smirked for a split second, she had him.

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Wells! Always great to see you again," Clint brightly inserted himself into the group of men surrounding him, "That was one hell of a party last year, am I right?" He said laughing, drawing fake connections between them. And Clint was hoping Wells would be as stupid as his file made him sound and buy it. Wells looked closely at Clint's face, scrunching his eyebrows together, then relaxed his face and shoulders, "Yes, of course Mr…" He finally spoke, relieving the social tension around them.

"Bradford." Clint said shaking the man's hand firmly, "You look great Mr. Wells." He said smiling widely, even though Wells was not physically fit by _any_ means. "Gentleman," He then turned to the finely dressed men, "If you don't mind, I'd like to catch up with Mr. Wells." Questioning silence filled the surrounding air and Clint felt the compact bow hidden in his jacket puncture his side. Just as he feared the men would not leave, they shrugged and scattered about the large partying crowd.

"My wife Naomi and I are good friends with your wife," Clint explained, his words casually strung together."Hey, mind if you show me around a bit?" He asked confidently.

"I don't see why not," Wells replied, gulping down one of the _many_ glasses of champagne he had probably drank.

_Too easy, _Clint's sides of his mouth curved up.

It was a wonderful building, it seemed the brush the sky and had extraordinary glass panels all around the perimeter. Practically every room you entered had elegant silver furniture and a wall of pure glass looking down at the city, "It's a beautiful place," Clint offered, they were alone now, and he was able to get to business. "It's a shame, you're really selling yourself short on this one Mr. Wells." He hinted at who he _actually_ was, letting his overly-friendly charm shatter.

"Excuse me?" Alan Wells looked skeptically at the man, he began to sweat from his palms. Wells didn't confirm that he had attachments to the man he was now alone with, he just assumed he had met him whilst drunk. He _did_ like his alcohol. Wells stepped away from the man. Suddenly he noticed the apparent intensity that clouded the man, 'Bradford'.

"The deal you're about to make," Clint turned away from the large window, "It's a mistake." His stare targeted the nervous man's guilt.

Wells stumbled back, knocking over a small table and vase of flowers, he was indeed _very_ drunk and _very_ nervous. Clint was trying to reason with Wells, he wasn't acting or speaking threatening words, but Wells's eyes were filled with fear.

"I have to take it," Wells replied shakily, "He's going to kill my wife."

Clint blinked, that was new. It wasn't just reward he was in for, Petrovin was blackmailing him too. "You're going to have to come with me," Clint said, keeping Wells calm. "Nothing's going to hurt your wife, we have an agent on Petrovin."

"He's going to kill your Agent. You have no _idea_ what he's capable of, that man is a monster." Wells stuttered, warning the strange man of what he was up against, "Petrovin is angry and has no conscious. He's going to rip him to _shreds_."

"I highly doubt that, I don't think Petrovin picked up his skills in hell." Clint chuckled lightly, thinking of just what Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow, was capable of. Hell, he was even afraid of his partner if he got her angry enough, which had happened many times.

"Who the hell are you?" Wells was backed up against the wall, still questioning Clint's words.

"That's none of your concern," Clint said quickly, as he swiped out the retractable bow from inside his jacket and swiftly reached back for an arrow.

"We could do this the boring way or the fun way." He sighed the words out.

Wells's eyes flung around the room. He broke into a run, thinking he could make it to the door before Clint could shoot. _Damn_, the guy really needed to hit the gym every once and a while.

The side of Clint's lips twitched up, "The fun way it is."

Clint's muscles contracted and relaxed as he precisely aimed his arrow at Wells. It all happened in less than a second, with the slight movement of his fingers the arrow was sent flying across the room. It pricked his neck, Clint didn't kill him, he wasn't planning to in the first place. The arrow's thin point was coated with a liquid, it would knock him unconscious long enough to drag him to S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint's eyes watched as Wells slowly lowered to the ground in his sleeping state. "Got him Nat," Clint muttered as he peaked his head out of the door, searching for a room number.

"Meet me in room 521 when you've finished him, we gotta get out of here, It'll only be a matter of time before they notice the star of the show is gone."

* * *

Natasha had her lips sealed against Petrovin's in a tender kiss, she had one hand locked to the back of his head as she pushed him against the empty hallway's wall. Natasha giggled as the tall Russian man left trails of kisses down to her neck, with their bodies pressed together she took the initiative to reach up the back of her skirt to retrieve her knife. Petrovin was off guard, getting extremely distracted by their hot moments.

Of course, Natasha wasn't _honestly _interested in their kissing, she had been on hundreds of missions for the Red Room where she had to do _much_ more than fake-kiss to open an opportunity. The next day it would be like it never happened, she never really thought hard about it either, it was simply shoved off her shoulders and left alone.

"Oh, Alexei," She mumbled longingly as she lifted the blade in her right hand, and raised it slowly to the back of his neck. Natasha forcefully parted their lips, spinning around his body with the knife firmly in her hand. She held a tight grip with the knife pressing into his throat and roughly twister his arm behind his back. Natasha bent him backwards to bring his ear level to her lips, "This is what I've been looking forward to _all_ night," She breathed, happily switching her usual personality on.

Petrovin acted flustered, faking stammering words, though this was probably _not_ his first situation with a weapon pressed to his throat. "Save it, you son of a bitch, I know about your deal with Wells. And if I were you, I would have been more careful."

She felt the Russian terrorist unwind from his strained state, he was just as at home as she was.

"Barton, I've got him." Natasha slowly dipped the knife into his throat, she waited for his loud, pained groan to escape his mouth before she lessened her pressure.

_"Don't just take your damn time, hurry up so we can be done with it, princess." _Clint chided her.

"Barton you little shit, you _don't_ call me stupid-ass nicknames!" She shouted at him. "And don't forget Wells," She added.

_"Wells? What do you want me to do, carry the man on m back? The damn guy is 200 pounds!" _He complained, and waited for a reply. There was none, _"Shit Nat, the things I do."_

Petrovin used her angry state to jerk out of her arms, as soon as he did Natasha was back on alert, she pulled out a gun from her thigh and with her opposite hand she threw her knife, aiming at his heart.

"Barton, get the hell down here, same floor, opposite end. This bastard has it coming."

"Barton? You're partner?" Petrovin asked, as he ably swerved to avoid her aim, his breathing was labored, "What agency are you from?"

_"Be there soon, pumpkin." _She heard him grunting from slinging Wells over his shoulder.

"Shut the hell up," She mocked his teasing tone.

Natasha turned back to Petrovin, "None of your damn business." She spat back at him and lifted her arm to shoot. In as little time as she held her gun up he skillfully disarmed her, wrenching it out of her hands before she could even squeeze the trigger. Natasha raised a brow, he was more impressive than she assumed. But still, Natasha did _not_ like it when someone else played with her toys.

"You're better than I thought," Natasha spoke, "But you're _still _dead." She said bluntly and pounced at him, pinning him to the ground. She grasped his arm that was clutching the gun and pounded it into the ground until the gun was set free, it slide a few feet across the floor. Natasha had her legs on either side of his body, she sat on his chest not allowing him easy air though his lungs. She swung her fiery head of hair out of her face and threw her elbow into his nose, feeling a distinct crack of the bone.

Petrovin slung his head back, hitting it hard on the stone floor, he shifted his weight, allowing himself on top of Natasha. His fist made contact with the side of her face then held both her hands to the ground, "No, I recognize you now." He said, letting his thick Russian accent seep though.

"The infamous Black Widow." He laughed, blood spewing from his nose onto her face.

"How did the Red Room treat you?"

If Natasha had a dollar from every person who tired to use that card against her, she would have zero. Because they'd all be dead. She sneered, he wasn't even worth giving a reply to. She wiggled one of her arms out and struck is chin upward with her palm, followed by a punch to the side of his cheek. Natasha wiped his blood from her face then jabbed her knee into his groin and kicked his stomach in with both feet. Petrovin doubled over in pain, coughing up red.

"Barton, I need you." She said neutrally, standing over Petrovin and paying him a few more blows to the stomach.

_"On my fucking way, Nat…" _He replied to his impatient partner.

Natasha anchored him from his shirt and meet his beaten, ugly face, "Have any accomplices?" She said looking at him with her menacing green eyes.

"Not going to ask nicely?" He coughed the words out. Natasha shrugged a bit, at least he had a sense of humor.

"I don't play _nice_." Natasha whispered harshly, tightening her jaw. She dragged him over to where her knife was pierced deep into the wall, Petrovin began to shake, but not from what Natasha hoped. He was _laughing_, Natasha's clutched his collar in her fist tensely and jammed his jaw in her hand, "I've been taught to _rip_ open a man's stomach and cut out their intestines with safety scissors, and I've learned how to keep them alive during the _whole_ process." She said in a low voice, "They've taught me things in the Red Room your daddy wouldn't even _dream_ of doing to Americans."

"When I'm done with you, the last thing you will be doing is laughing." She said in a gravely voice. She was telling the truth, she could do a thousand things to torture him then have a million more options left over. And she would do it in a heartbeat.

"No more questions?" His words were muffled from Natasha squeezing his cheeks.

"Dead men don't answer questions," She released her hand from his face, letting him fall to his knees. Petrovin took the opportunity to jump for the gun, "_Damn it_," Natasha cursed her sloppiness.

"Drop the knife." He aimed the gun at Natasha, ready to shoot.

She couldn't believe she was getting so careless. Natasha growled and let it clink to the floor with her hands up.

"Drop the gun," Clint said from behind him, an arrow pricking at the back of his head.

Natasha used the moment to scoop up her blade, "It's about time Barton." She let out a small laugh.

"Something tells me that I got the easier half of the deal," Clint spoke, glancing over at the ripped, bloodied up dress Natasha wore.

"What told you that, the fact that my target had me at gun point or that yours is _asleep_ on your goddamn back?" She irritatedly walked over to Petrovin and her partner. Natasha clawed the gun out of his hands and asked once more, "Have an accomplices?" She held the point of her knife to his chest, danger lurking in her green eyes.

Petrovin chuckled, "I'm alone in this." He said, but could easily be lying. He glanced down to the knife, then swiftly snatched it from her hands and threw it behind himself. Just as he let go of the knife Clint let go of his grip on his arrow. Natasha had thought that Petrovin's target was Clint, but it was Wells, he had made a clean shot into his chest.

"What at bitch," Clint said placing Wells down, and looking down to the man with an arrow bashed inside his head.

Natasha scoffed, "What are we going to tell Fury about Wells? He wanted him alive."

"We could pretend that he's alive?" Clint suggested, staring at his partner with a worried look.

"Man, are we in for it." She shook her head slowly, Nick Fury was one of the few things she feared. Having anger issues like no other, he literally lived up to his last name.

"Tell me about it sweet-" Clint whimpered at Natasha's heel shoved on his toe, "Nat, I meant Nat." he corrected himself and Natasha felt a smile creep to her distressed face.

Clint felt a pinch of worry draw over him as he looked at his beaten up partner, "You okay?" He asked something that probably shouldn't have been brought up. It was _highly_ inappropriate, she was more than capable of handling herself out in the field, but that didn't stop him from taking note of every cut and bruise on her body.

"Yeah, I'm good. That-that was fun." She let out a chilly, breathy huff of air.

Clint stepped over to her, wiping away blood from her cheek with his thumb.

"I love you," Clint gently said and brushed her red hair away from her face.

"I know." She replied, coldness evading her voice as she looked into his disarmingly charming blue eyes. Natasha scorned at him suddenly, she punched him forcefully in his arm, "None of this would have _fucking_ happened if you came sooner, you class-A bastard." She said crossing her arms.

"Here you go again," Clint fought back, "I had an actual reason this time Nat, you may have _forgotten_, but I was lugging around a 200 pound man at your shitty request!"

"_I_ could have carried two of him and gotten here sooner than you did," Natasha scoffed, leaning forward to shove the words in his face.

"If you didn't let the guy get your gun we wouldn't be having this fi-" He stopped, hearing the ring of a cell phone. Clint sighed, "I think it's yours, it isn't mine."

Natasha rolled her eyes at Clint and reached up the skirt of her dress, "Hello?"

She made a face and covered the microphone of the phone, "It's Coulson, he says _Fury_ wants to know if we've completed the mission."

'What the hell do I say?' She mouthed to him.

'I don't know.' He mouthed back, then Natasha pushed the phone up to his ear, "You've got to be fucking kidding me," He aimed his words at Natasha, "No, not you Coulson." Clint said into the phone.

"Okay, you're on speaker Coulson." Clint held the phone between them.

"We've got a helicopter on it's way to pick you two up, it should be on the roof in twenty." Phil's distorted voice came through the phone. "You're done there right?"

"Y-yeah, we're done here." He said and paused.

"Do you guys need partnership counseling? S.H.I.E.L.D. has options, and I have a few pamphlets-" Phil said, immediately knowing his two agent's state of mind.

"No, we _do not_ need counseling." Natasha crossed her arms, even though Phil couldn't see her body language.

"Okay, fine it's just that you're always bickering and as your handler, I strongly suggest that you maybe do some research on the matter. Perhaps in pamphlet form, preferably the ones in my office…" Phil replied, he was an idiot, but he was also in charge of them.

"Shut up about the pamphlets Coulson…" Clint ruffled the back of his hair.

"Right," Phil said awkwardly pausing, "I'll see you then, have a safe trip."

"Wait, Coulson. There may be _one_, complication." Clint added in quickly before hearing a long dial tone.

Clint and Natasha's eyes widened in unison.

_Oh, Shit,_ they both thought.

* * *

**A/N:** This _is_ a sequel to one of the other ff's "Letters To You", BUT, you do not need to read that (at least not really) to know what the hell is going on in this one. I know this chapter is sort of long, well, I consider it long, but I had trouble splitting it up into two chapters. I really hope you enjoy! I worked sooo hard on making this a good first chapter. **Please review** and let me know what you think! :)


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: All rights to the original owner

* * *

"You two are in it _deep_." Fury said from behind his large metallic desk, he wasn't angry-at least yet- he was just _provoked._ Clint and Natasha exchanged distraught glances as Fury screened their response, giving them a corrupted smirk.

"Sir," Natasha began in a steady tone, "We executed the target, just as the orders said."

Bad choice.

"And what did the orders also say?" Fury asked, leaning closer to the marksman and assassin. They remained silent, "Let me refresh your memory…They _said_ to bring Wells back _alive._ With a heartbeat, not a damn _knife_ slashed though it!" His voice boomed as the two agents tensed in their seats, "Is that so difficult to understand?"

"Or do you two need to be sent back to kindergarten to learn the definition of the word, _fucking_, alive!" Fury snarled.

"And just when I thought we were daddy's favorite." Clint joked with beaming eyes, while reclining back into this uncomfortable chair. As long as they came back alive scolding didn't hold much weight on his concerns.

"_Daddy, _doesn't have favorites, he has agents. Does this look like a _joke_ to you Agent Barton?" Fury's eyes widened, looking ready to kick his sorry ass out of S.H.I.E.L.D.

"No, _sir._" Clint almost scoffed the apology out.

"You may be the top agents here at S.H.I.E.L.D., but you better not screw things up again if you want to keep it that way!"

"Agent Romanoff, keep your partner under control," He said keeping his stare intense and present.

"Of course, sir. But, there's no need to get _furious._" She replied, holding back a smile.

Fury blinked, inhaling a hefty breath, "_Damn it_, Romanoff, I thought I told you to _stop_ with the 'Fury' puns." He said slamming his fist onto his desk, shaking it violently.

Clint and Natasha broke out in laughter, the man really needed to loosen up. They were always acting like this with Fury, he wasn't really like their boss in their eyes, he was more like a deranged parent. And when they realized it, they just decided to mess with Fury when he was yelling the shit out of them in a debriefing.

"Get out of my office," The eye-patched man pointed to the door.

"No new mission?" Clint asked, baffled.

"I don't know, ask me in a week after your _suspension_." He gave a nasty reply. He had to do _something_ to teach his top agents not to be a pair of five-year-olds. "And pick up one of those pamphlets in Coulson's office, he says it's urgent." Fury added on their way out.

"Fuck the pamphlets!" Natasha roared back.

The two agents walked out with gaped expressions, Fury really _suspended _them from all missions for an entire _week_. A week may not seem long, but to two agents who were used to being out in the field a minimum of six days a week, it was an eternity. "What do we do now?" Clint broke the long silence. Natasha shrugged back, "I don't know life anymore." He added, acting like a senior in college with an undecided major.

"The 'furious' joke went too far, didn't it?" Natasha asked as they walked through the nearly empty halls of S.H.I.E.L.D.

"You _don't_ say, Nat?" He replied sarcastically.

She glared back at her partner, "What do we do in the mean time then?" She sighed, crossing her arms against her chest.

"I don't know, _rest_ for once in our lives." He suggested, looking over to red-head along side him.

"Sounds like hell." Natasha said coldly, she _needed_ these missions. In the same way a fish needed water or a plant needed sunlight. Resting was against her nature, or at least the conditioning the Red Room gave her. If they gave her free time she would end up doing crazy shit like hacking into their classified files.

On the third day of being deprived of op's Natasha wanted to claw her hair out. She spent most of her days of suspension in the training room with a gun cocked in her hand, thus scaring rookie agents. It was all the same though, she would never miss, it was all so _mundane_. Knives, guns, and all the other weapons in the training room wouldn't keep her busy like a field mission would. There was no objective to it all, no real target. When she wanted a challenge she would pick up Clint's bow and arrow, but she was a somewhat decent archer as well. Natasha frowned, feeling fully unsatisfied.

.

Natasha groaned, she hadn't been able to get a decent rest in days. Clint on the other hand, spent an abundant number of hours slummed in his bed sleeping. Natasha tore the blankets off her body and sped out of her room, she turned to checked the clock. 3:19 A.M. Natasha walked one door down to her partners quarters, and knocked. The clanging from her fist pounding on the door echoed in the hall, hopefully not rousing up other agents. She didn't want to explain why she was going to see Clint at an odd hour of night, even if it _was_ completely innocent. The other agents didn't know, _Fury_ didn't even know about their relationship, if you could even label it that.

The messy haired marksman answered the door, "What?" He muttered, he let out an aggravated breath when he saw who was on the other side.

"I'm bored." She said plainly, tucking hair behind her ears.

"Thanks for the update," Clint replied in a daze, closing the door on her face.

Natasha slid her foot between the door and frame, grabbing his attention, then met his icy eyes.

"Let's do something fun." She suggested in a dangerous tone.

* * *

Before Clint knew it, Natasha was in his room with a laptop on his table doing, what do you know, hacking classified S.H.I.E.L.D. files. She wasn't taking the suspension very well, if you call being moody as fuck and seriously blood thirsty, 'not doing well'. Clint sat down next to his partner who was vigorously typing and offered her a mug of coffee. "I don't need coffee, I'm already awake." She said, "Now _shut up_, you're slowing me down."

Clint parted his closed lips, and took a deep inward breath. He didn't even say anything. Clint shook his head at his insane partner and sipped his scalding coffee.

"What are you even _doing?_" He asked after long moments of only hearing the clacking of the laptops keys.

"We're doing something entertaining." She said, and Clint feared what Natasha deemed as 'fun' or 'entertaining', because those did not sound like good adjectives when it came to her.

"But, we're in our PJ's!" Clint protested.

"Yeah," She scoffed, "I'm aware."

"I'm looking for flights that are departing today." She added, her eyes still glued to the screen.

Clint rubbed his facial stubble, "You've got to be kidding me."

"We're going to _highjack_ a fucking plane Nat?" He said in a hectic whisper, "_This_ is your idea of fun?"

Natasha looked at her deer-at-headlights looking partner mildly, "I never said that it was wholesome, now did I?" She rolled her eyes.

"It's dangerous," He hissed.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, "Did you somehow forget what you do as a career?"

"What I _mean_ is if Fury finds out, he'll have our heads served on a plate cooked medium-rare!" He warned, failing to change her mind.

"I should hope so, cook us any longer and the meat would get tough." She said dryly.

"Look, Nat, how much have you slept since we got suspended?" Clint asked, trying to get himself out of Natasha's scheming.

"I don't know, three hours? Maybe more." She shrugged, still tapping on her keyboard.

"What the hell? That's about thirty _less_ than you should have gotten!" He chided her, Natasha whipped around to him with an annoyed stare, "I didn't _ask_ for your concern."

"I used to go _weeks_ without it in the Red Room." She added, then switched her focus back to hacking.

"I thought we promised not to talk about that," Clint cocked his head to the side.

Natasha clenched her jaw together, they _had_ promised not to speak of it. They did things to her, things that didn't even occur in nightmares. The people there used to climb into her brain just to play, just to make a mess out of her before piecing her back together the way that _they_ wanted. It was boot camp for mindless, heartless assassins. She was made in the Red Room, she was formulated and developed into the perfect killer. No morals, no emotions. At least all until Clint came around and fucked up the meaning of her entire existence. Now they wouldn't even talk about the shit that went on in the Red Room. Natasha was re-made at S.H.I.E.L.D., she had thoughts, emotions, but she still remembers her bloody past-self. Clint didn't want to know more about her time there, or maybe he didn't want to be _reminded _of it.

He did, in fact, read her file.

And that was _a lot_ of red.

"I found something, a flight to Ireland in…" Natasha checked his digital clock, "Three hours."

"Okay," Clint said, "How do we get on it?" He asked ignorantly.

Natasha made a few adjustments to the roster of the jet, "Well, actually," She started, "We're flying it." She smiled devilishly.

"Damn you."

Natasha leaned over and kissed Clint, "Thanks bitch." She replied playfully.

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Clint said, taking his seat in the pilot's chair and placing the headset over his ears. There was no stopping her at this point, any further arguments would leave him in an…_unpleasing_ state. Dead. And that would be no good, no good at all, he couldn't let some bastard replace him in his partnership with Natasha because he was shot in he head.

Natasha chuckled as she glanced over to Clint, "You just need to work on talking me _out_ of things."

Clint smiled slightly, he adjusted the controls of the jet and slipped on a pair of sunglasses, "I hate you." He said under his breath.

"Hate me or not, you're looking forward to this," She said, fiddling with her side of switches and buttons.

They had been up in the air for over thirty minutes, without interruption, when Natasha heard her cell phone ring. She groaned loudly, alarming the rookie agents who were seated in the back. Flying a few hours to Ireland was not her cup of tea, it mean they were just, flying_ still_. But the way back, when there were no agents to witness their mischief, they could break the rules even more. Natasha flipped on her auto-pilot and ripped her headset off, pulling her hair in the process. She yanked the cellphone from her pocket, "Hello?" She looked over to Clint, "Coulson, yeah what you do need?" When he didn't budge she pulled on his shoulder with an alarmed look.

"What?" He said harshly.

"_Shut up,_ It's Coulson!" She said away from the phone.

_"Where are you now?" _Phil asked, and Natasha stiffened, It wasn't because she cared about getting into trouble for disobeying orders, she just didn't want her handler to be a buzz-kill.

"Where am I?" Natasha continued speaking into the phone. "I'm…" She trailed off.

"Hang up the phone Nat," Clint told her, still focusing on the sky.

_"Something wrong? Agent Romanoff?" _

_"Natasha?"_ He bombarded her questions.

She held the phone frantically in her hand, and shook her head violently at Clint.

"I'm fine Coulson. Stop your worrying, I'm in the training room." She said with a mask of collectiveness.

"Hang up the _damn_ phone." Clint whispered with more urgency, reaching for her phone.

Natasha grabbed his hand and squeezed it in her fist, causing him to grunt in pain. She rolled her eyes, that did _not_ hurt.

_"Is Clint with you there?"_

"Is everything alright?" One of the agents on the jet came up behind them, Natasha released Clint's hand and glared up to the agent.

"Peachy." Clint said unhappily. Natasha shooed him away with her hand and he backed away, sensing the strong tension.

"Yeah," Natasha said aridly, "He's here alright."

_"On the flight with you?"_

Natasha gripped Clint's forearm, "The flight?" She asked, raising a brow.

Clint's head fell back into his seat, "Fuck."

_"Flight 234, you're on it now. In fact, you're piloting it. I checked the roster…"_

Natasha didn't reply, she didn't feel defeated, somehow she knew of all the flaws in her plan.

_"You're lucky I found this before Fury."_

"I'm not afraid of Fury." She said firmly.

_"Good, because I'm reporting this." _

"Always one for the rules, huh Coulson. In other words, go to hell." Natasha ended the call and shoved her headset back over her ears, she turned her auto-pilot off, "Sorry, baby," She spoke to the jet, "We've got to turn you around."

Clint followed her lead, he wasn't nervous about their dire situation, he was just annoyed that it happened so often. Honestly, working with Natasha was like being thrown into an inferno each day, she put him through endless torture and didn't think twice about it. He would have gotten rid of her long ago, if there wasn't something so intriguing about the way she confronted everything. Natasha had this, unapproachable aspect to her, the only person she really let in was him. He was both thankful and distressed about it, mainly because she was as bleak and mean on the inside as she was on the outside. Nothing really softened, her brokenness just became more apparent, more _there_.

Natasha noticed the same about Clint, they were assassins, they were _made_ from the broken humans that they once were. Nothing was ever soft about S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, _especially_ them, because spread on their ledger was a thick layer of red.

* * *

"I swear, every goddamn week it's something with you two." Fury said, pacing around the two agents.

"We have a clean record." Natasha muttered, tapping her fingers rhythmically on her thigh.

"Because I _let_ you." He corrected, breathing down her neck. "Do you even _remember_ last month Romanoff?" He gave a convincing laugh, considering how irritated he was with them.

Natasha made a snarky face, of course she remembered last month, it was actual thrilling fun. Fury was so _naive _to think that yelling at them would make a difference. As long as he kept them partners, and he _would_, taking a few chances and getting into harmlessly messy situations wasn't a game-changer. She just wished he didn't act like their _damn _father.

"So she blew up a helicopter! It was one time!" Clint said defensively.

"That _month_." Fury snorted.

"I don't know why I put up with you two." He shook his head, and sat back in his large office seat.

"It's because we're the best team you've had in _decades_, didn't we go over this last week?" Clint snapped back, meeting Fury's bitter gaze.

"Natasha Romanoff, you are 24 years old. And Clint Barton you are 29. Has it ever occurred to you to start acting your age?" He demanded.

"Give us a mission then maybe we will." Natasha bargained, I mean, hey, it was worth a shot.

"A _mission_? To you toddlers?" Fury chuckled, then sat still, turning over situations in his head. "Alright then, fine," He stooped over the two with a change in presence. Fury nodded his head in agreement with himself, but was not acting forgiving by any means.

"Hell, you want missions, I'll give you missions."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone who followed and faved. I'd really like some reviews though! Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. Writing about Clint and Natasha is always fun, they're a good pair...as in my opt. HAAAA


	3. Update, sorry guys

Hello thereeeee!

So, **quick update**. Don't be too disappointed, I know I get disappointed when I see a new chapter up and it's just an update, but I'd like to give you guys some proper warning.

Yeah, I know I've been slacking quite a bit with my updates, but school has just started and I'm still adjusting. I will still be updating hopefully every month or so, don't fret!

I will definitely NOT abandon this story! I'm so happy for all of the followers and there's a lot more to come.

Keep reading, and see you soon again.

Bye guys!


	4. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: yo, all rights the the proper owner

* * *

"Romanoff, Barton," Fury tossed them each a small circular USB drive, they didn't even flinch at the abrupt fling of the metal objects.

"Two USB's….that means-" Natasha said feeling the smooth surface of the drive.

"Two missions, that's right." Fury completed her thought, which she found highly aggravating.

"We don't _do_ solo missions." Clint said between clenched teeth. "You know that Fury."

"_You_ don't have a damn choice!" He growled, "This isn't a punishment, you two need some time away from each other. It's been three _years_ since either of you've had a single solo op, I've decided that this is good for you." He said as he simmered down, "I'm sure Coulson will agree."

Clint didn't give a damn, he didn't _want_ a solo mission. Yeah, so what? He was being a selfish little child, but it was Natasha. He only wanted to work alongside her, even if that mean a _months_ suspension-sappy I know-. Before her Phil couldn't even _hypothetically_ convince him to request for a partner, the thought of working with someone was ridiculous. Alone was safer, it was cleaner, and it was _definitely_ unattached.

That's just how he was.

"Fine," Natasha said unsympathetically.

And apparently how Natasha still is.

"What's the mission?" She said holding up the round USB.

"_Nat!_" Clint hissed and stared at her with distressed eyes.

She brushed off his behavior, he wasn't thinking straight, "Barton don't be stupid, take the mission. We don't have a choice, plus it's better than all the damn nothing we've been getting."

Clint exhaled deeply, she chose _now_ to be obedient? What the hell happened to the reckless unruly Natasha?

"Agent Romanoff, you're dealing with a Russian arms dealer. The files explain the rest, you'll get it, it should be child's play. Do whatever seems fit." Fury said in his business-like tone.

"I'm starting to think you do this on purpose Fury, I have to seduce another damn Russian man?" She sighed, brushing her messy curls out of her face.

Fury shrugged lightly, "If that's what you need to do." Natasha rolled her eyes, that's what she _always_ had to do, damn it.

"Isn't there some rookie you can give this to?" She sighed, spinning the small object between her fingers.

"You may find this one a bit more, _entertaining._" Fury smirked suggestively. Natasha shot her green eyes up at him in curiosity, entertaining did have a compelling ring to it.

"I thought you said 'child's play'…" Natasha muttered under her breath.

He turned to Clint, "And Barton, you're back in on the Tesseract."

"The _Tesseract_? We're still looking into that thing?" Clint asked with Furrowed brows.

"It would appear so," He replied, "You're the man for the job, get on it."

"What _exactly_ are we doing with the Tesseract?" He asked, slouching over his legs.

"That can't be said here." Fury replied in his usual open-ended statements.

"What the _hell_ is a Tesseract?" Natasha questioned, leaning to the edge of her chair.

Fury looked at her with his 'that's classified' face, and she dropped back. Now he was just being _boring_ on purpose.

"Wait," Clint stopped him, "Will it take as long as the last time I was assigned to it? I'm not spending another two years in hell."

"No, two weeks _tops_." Fury assured him and watch the strain from the archer's face diminish.

"The information in the drives contains more specific instructions. You'll start tomorrow, in the mean time though, get the hell out of my office you inconsiderate bitches." Fury nodded to the door and turned away from the two agents.

"Thank you, sir." Clint painfully drew the words out, he watched as Fury remained unfazed.

"Damn right." He snorted back.

"It won't be like last time," Clint promised and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as they stood in front of her quarters. Natasha stiffened, that '_last time'_ was years ago, thinking about it made her wince. It reminded her of her weakness, "Of course it won't be. I was a mess back then Barton," She sighed and jammed her key card into it's slot above the handle.

"It will _never_ be like three years ago." She shook her head.

"I don't know if I should be happy or sad about that," Clint said, walking to his quarters.

"Why the hell would you be sad about me not being like I was three years ago? I was a damn wreck." Natasha crinkled her eyebrows together, her tone unchanging.

"Because three years ago you said you loved me." He said softly, his blue eyes saddening.

"Don't be dramatic Barton," She replied and slammed her heavy door shut.

_Dramatic._ So that's what he was, but if he was dramatic then she was cold. The speck of warmth within her was about as impossible to reach as it was to survive a bullet to the head at point blank. He didn't care, he couldn't say he was much different from her. They were just _made_ differently. Burning hot or cold didn't make a difference when in the end you were both information-seeking killers who wore masks for money. Masks that sometimes blurred your perception of who is really what. There were so many sides to Natasha, he constantly questioned which was real. Probably the side that annoyed the shit out of him, but then again, that was all sides. Yet he _still_ fell for her. Hard, in the most painful way possible, like straight off a cliff, flat on the face.

But hell, the pain was worth it.

Clint pulled up a chair in front of his issued laptop, plopping down in his seat as he gulped down smooth coffee. He kicked his shoes off under his table -which was an annoyingly bad habit- and crammed his USB into the slot. Instantly files shot up to the screen, overlapping each other. Pictures and documents packed onto the screen, each fighting for attention. Clint adjusted them, and found himself focusing on one picture in particular, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He clicked on it and a diagram of the Tesseract glowed from the screen, data filling the further space. Clint skimmed through it, picking up the information that he read.

His eyes widened as he parted his lips, "What the hell have you gotten into Fury?"

Next door Natasha was lounging in her pajama's with a mug of orange juice and ramen noodles; a meal you would likely see of a broke college student. She sorted through the files and sighed. It was a typical mission, her target was an narcissistic jack-ass who thought he had it all in his palm, thinking that he was controlling the little game of his. Then she could come in, he wouldn't notice her as a threat, she was only a woman to them. All the arrogant men she went after always underestimated her, thinking that she was just a pretty, weak, face without a mind. They were always mistaken. The only thing that was left to do after that was interrogate them then shoot. She shrugged, better than nothing.

Then she thought about Clint, was he her better than nothing? She sipped some of her soup, no, he wasn't. He wasn't a second choice, he was her _only_ choice. Second choice would require more than one interest. He was the company she didn't mind having, even if they were both thrown into each other out of solitude.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was lunging itself into things Stephen Hawking couldn't decode. As far as Clint knew, they were sending themselves on a suicide mission with this one. He didn't know _how _he knew, he just had a gut wrenching feeling that the Tesseract was something bigger than they thought. It came from _Thor's_ side of the universe for crying out loud, _that_ should've been their first hint that it was powerful. Clint rubbed his hands into his face, he wouldn't be able to talk Fury out of this one. He had money and more importantly, _people_ invested in this project, probably _ten_ Stephen Hawkings. Going to his office now would be pointless, Fury would call the operation off on a hunch.

Clint furrowed his eyebrows…_A hunch._

He found himself at his handler, Phil Coulson's office. Phil looked up from his pen and paper, his kind face steady at Clint's presence. Clint, though, was still hoping that his hunch wasn't just a false trail. "So you figured it out," Phil said placing his elbows on his work, "Can I ask how?"

"Your office," Clint started straining to piece together how he _did _end at that conclusion, "Every time you mentioned those goddamn pamphlets you said that they'd be in _your office_. It seemed too coincidental to me."

Phil grinned, "That's why you're one of our top agents."

"What the hell do you want Coulson?" He stepped closer to his handler.

"It's about you and Agent Romanoff, your _relationship._" Phil stressed his last word, "It's been five years and no rumors, no _incidents_ getting out of our little circle."

"And?" Clint barked, rolling his blue eyes.

"Since it obviously hasn't affected the success of your missions, I thought Fury should be in the loop on this." Phil suggested in his calm tone.

Clint didn't even have to blink, "No," He shook his head.

"He'd _tear_ us away from each other and you know it." He sneered.

"You don't know that," Phil shrugged.

"No, I _do_ know that. Natasha and I don't exactly make him a happy fucking camper!" Clint yelled, pacing in his office.

"There _will_ come a time when he finds out." Phil replied firmly, watching Clint's anger cloud around him, seeping out of his pores.

"Okay then, oh wise one, then let's hope it won't be any damn time soon." Clint narrowed his cutting eyes at the relaxed agent and bolted out, slamming the bulky door behind him.

"Hm, I was expecting worse," Phil said mildly and grasped his pen.

"That went quite well."

* * *

"Nat."

Natasha opened the door, knowing the identity of the voice on the opposite side, "What's wrong," She said eyeing her shaking partner, "Barton, what do you want?" She added, allowing him in. Clint rested on the edge of her messy bed and unzipped his jacket, tearing it off. Natasha watched as he failed to release her from his lusting gaze. Damn it, she knew exactly what that look was.

"So _that's_ what you want." She said bolting the door behind her.

Clint nearly lunged at her, tangling his fingers in her hair as he pressed his lips to hers forcefully. He breathed her in, her body smelling of generic shampoo and salts. Natasha relaxed in his hold, kissing him as she yanked at his shirt, pulling him to the bed.

.

"I don't get it." Clint said between gasps for air, wiping sweat from his face and forehead.

"It's called sex Barton." Natasha stated flatly.

"I fucking know _that_," Clint groaned at her peeving bitterness.

Natasha sighed, "Then what is it?" She ran her fingers through her tangles of hair.

"Why me?" Clint questioned. His blue eyes hardened as he felt Natasha tense beside him.

"Why you _what?_" She scoffed with bitterness in her voice.

"You know what I mean." Clint pried.

"Barton, I actually don't know what the hell you're getting at." She lied and looked at him with tempered green eyes, reaching for her underwear. It was 4AM, and they _both_ had jets to be on. Natasha didn't _care_ about his feelings, she didn't even care about how inhuman she was being.

"Damn it Nat. You chose me for some calculated reason, you _chose_ to let me into your fucked up life. I just want to know _why_." He said desperately.

Natasha was out of bed, dressing into her thick gear, "It wasn't really a choice, so I don't _have_ a reason." She said without a drop of sentiment in her voice. She violently shoved her guns and knives into various places on her body, "I have a mission though, Barton." Her hand was inching towards a knife, threatening to show just how apathetic she was.

"For god's sake Nat!" Clint groaned, "you're a damn idiot if you think I can't do the _exact_ same thing."

Natasha's hand recoiled, "I know well enough, remember how we first met?"

Clint tightened his jaw, then relaxed, sitting upright in the bunched up sheets. He rolled his eyes, waiting for her to admit that avoiding this conversation was getting tiresome. Their love-hate relationship was just getting plain _sappy, _hell, it was nearly something out of a romance movie_. _Only, they're assassins. Assassins with limited emotions. It was a likely side effect of a life career of killing. And even if you didn't participate in the life long killing spree, then chances are you were garbage picked up off the streets by S.H.I.E.L.D., brought into the crap life of an S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Feelings were't an order so they weren't priority either. The little emotions Clint and Natasha felt keep them _feeling_ _alive_.

So the trick was, _don't die._

"Go on your damn mission, blow off some steam." Clint sighed, shooing her away. "Come back when you don't want to kill your own partner."

"That would be never."

Clint rolled his eyes.

"See you back at S.H.I.E.L.D. or I'll be impatiently waiting in hell," Natasha raised her brows at him. It was a variation of something they always said to each other on their missions, before they parted for the night. Because, _please_, if they died, and a God did exist, then they'd be idiots to ever think that they were getting into heaven. As incentive to _not_ die, they'd think of it as hell or S.H.I.E.L.D., and one did sound more pleasant than the other.

"Yeah, if you die remember to bring sunglasses and an AC Nat." Clint retorted, pulling his t-shirt over his head.

"If it really is a fiery hole down there I'll need more than an AC." Natasha broke her serious vibe.

"If it is, at least it'll match your hair."

"Shut the hell up Barton," She smiled and lurked out the door.

"_Still_ with the last name." Clint shook his head, now alone in her quarters.

Clint couldn't tell her what Phil had said. He knew that if he told her then she would kick their relationship to the curb without a _single _thought. Like he said, she was cold. If he told her then she would discard their partnership before Fury could, the unnerving part was, he would do the same. Given the situation, their job is their life, take them out of S.H.I.E.L.D. and society would _repel_ them. They would be unable to adapt to civilian life, S.H.I.E.L.D. gave them security. To think they were wagering that kind of guarantee for a trivial relationship that couldn't even be defined.

* * *

**A/N:** hey guys...cringing on the inside for this chapter, because damnnnnnnn, I'm so disappointed... But I was thinking, I better get another chapter up soon... I promise the next chapter will be more exciting! Feedback would be much appreciated.


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